


Clowning Around

by Sing



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: #IchabbieHalloween, Angst, Clowns, F/M, Halloween, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 15:10:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12534600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sing/pseuds/Sing
Summary: Abbie collides with Ichabod at a Halloween Party.





	Clowning Around

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sleepy Hollow.

A resounding crash, and if she didn't know it was the picture frame jostling off the dresser, Abbie would have worried it was something in her back.

Hungry moans and pawing hands scrabble her brain from caring about the commotion they're creating, the threat they might be caught. In fact, the idea that they might be caught is even more thrilling. Oh but God isn't this a stupid mistake. He'd only been trying to get back together forever and now here she was, happily captured by him against the wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist, hardness pressing against her, and a his mouth sucking claiming passionate marks on the exposed column of her throat.

Here he is, draining her of all her defences. Wanting to take any and everything she has to offer and God, tonight, against all better judgement she will give it. An alarming squeak makes them both stop a moment, frantic energy dancing in their eyes before a laugh bubbles up between them. It's the horn on her waist. He goes to reclaim her mouth again but their faces collide and emit a shrill beep and then a honk.

His red clown nose.

She doesn't want to think about what it means they both decided to show up to this party like night mare clowns tonight. An odd coincidence nothing more.

Only the minute she'd heard his voice her stomach had flipped, her heart jack rabbited, and then she'd laid eyes on him in all his beautiful tall presence. The darkly lined blue eyes that pierced through the crowded room to find her. The long tapered fingers covered in intricate diamond patterned gloves in black and white. A decidedly wicked red smile painted across his lips and topped with that pert red nose, and she knew she was staring at for all intents and purposes a six foot clown but she was wet already by the time he'd crossed the room to offer a cordial hello.

Here's the problem with her being captured here with this dark clown, her cutesy puffed hair becoming disarray and smearing the evil black grin she had painted on her own lips tonight, with him pushing past the striped ripped bodice and tearing through the black satin puffy pantaloons, snapping the garters and wrenching off her shoes as she dropped her on their hosts guest bed----they're divorced.

That's right. Abbie Mills, divorced Ichabod Crane, last December.

An egregious, tiresome thing. It was work, and financial problems and he was always travelling for lectures and broken communications that both had seemed to preoccupied or laboured to fix. He shut down.

But almost as soon as it was finalized his circumstances had changed. A new, steady position at the university. He was all set to woo her again but she'd been hesitant of walking right back into a union they'd just agreed wasn't working.

But here she is caught with him between her legs and she has smeared half of his makeup and she can see the man she fell in love with behind the blue eyes and her heart aches with the truth of the matter that she does still love him.

The shock and failure of the marriage had disoriented her, and she was doubtful of Crane's willingness to commit for all his wanting to rekindle, but she hadn't gotten him out of her system. The divorce had been a poorly handled, misguided decision they'd made based on frustrations. They should have sought help but didn't. Should have talked together more, but hadn't. And then they were signing papers.

But the divorce had never meant she didn't love him. She'd never stopped. And certainly, his persistent overtures that began almost a month after the agreement had been finalized, proved he'd never stopped loving her, either.

"I've been fantasizing about this,"

"Screwing a clown?" Abbie manages to tease.

He grins as he hauls down the purple and black strappy thong and pauses to frown. "Who exactly were you hoping to show this off too?"

"My damn self," she shoots back defiantly. "I've been taking care of all those needs, without you,"

"You didn't have to," he whispers, trailing a finger up her thigh and lightly stroking. "Treasure, You know how I have been dying to come back to you."

"Only to bail when it gets hard?" she accuses, dismayed when tears startle to her eyes. "When schedules fail and money is tight and…..are you gonna check out on me again?"

He stops, sitting back and looking into her beautiful brown eyes, with the little black stars painted beneath each one. Her mussed hair and troubled bodice. "No. Abbie," he whispers. "No, I swear it. I was foolish, yes, I admit it, I own that. I…..I wasn't the partner you needed but I didn't…..somehow it seemed best to let you go when I wasn't giving you what you need."

She blinks her eyes shut and turns away from him. She knows this speech. He gave it to her time and time again every time she'd tried to talk him out of it. His determination to let her go so she could be happy. So he could stop disappointing her.

But all she had wanted was for him to step up. 

"This is a bad idea," she starts, feeling only a small sting of embarrassment now on her feet and looking for her discarded thong.

"Abbie," he catches at her hands and she goes still, turning to look at him. You divorced for a reason, she tells herself. Because he was too much of a coward to love you properly, to weather the hard times with you. Don't let him fool you twice---"Abbie," his voice breaks into her thoughts.

"Crane," she means for it to sound curt and biting, an admonishment. But all she gets is a soft, desperate broken voice that wants to give in to this moment and pretend, just for tonight, that they aren't two people with a marriage that went awry, and just truly, two adults, clowning around in the guest rooms of their host while the party continues outside in the circus tents. She wants to push away her fears and just be here, truly, with him.

"Please," he begs, and she goes, right back to the bed, right back to where they'd left off before, but he's in no hurry to touch her. At least not in the hurried passionate way he'd been going before. His hands rest on her thighs, gently stroking them, and he inhales deep. "I was an idiot, to think….Abbie, I know you love me."

"With my whole stubborn heart." she retorts, wretched and helpless.

"I know how hard, that love, that trust was to win, and I squandered it, but Abbie, I know….I trust those feelings haven't gone far. I hurt you. My God Abbie I am so desperately sorry I hurt you." Tears spill from is eyes, making inky rivulets down his face. From a scary clown to a scared and sad one. She reaches to thumb one away. "I want you, every day, and I regret, whole heartedly, chasing you away. Please, Abbie, Ilove you. I'll never stop. I'll never check out again, and I will court you, all over, a thousand times over if I have to, to prove it. But please."

To say 'yes' is more than her throat can muster. So she leans forward instead, curling her fingers in his hair and tugs him close until their lips meet.

 _I love you_ , her heart rages and tears, be they hurt ones or relief, she can't tell, and she doesn't care to name, stream down her face. _I love you Ichabod I love you, can you hear me._

When her lips part and their tongues, slow, tentative, questing, she thinks she can hear him answering. _Yes, Yes Abbie my heart, my soul. Yes, Please let me show it_.

A sigh escapes her and warmth coils in her belly as her legs spread and his perfect long fingers seek out her warmth. She moans into his mouth, her fingers tightening in his hair, nails scratching his scalp. He pulls away from her lips and locks eyes with her.

"Trick or treat," she rasps.

He dares to grin, to let devilish light kindle in his eyes. "Treat," he rumbles, pulling abruptly back and burying his head between her thighs.

She jolts at the feel of his tongue and then becomes boneless and free as he brings her to her peak. After she hauls him back up, kissing him hungrily, clawing and tearing at his suspenders, the buttons on his shirt, until he's free and she can grasp him, disengaging long enough to taste him and make him shout obscenities. The clown nose, knocked off in the fray but somewhere still among the sheets gives an affronted squawk that sets them both laughing.

There are more noises thereafter, pants, moans, screams and cries, exultant, frantic, climbing, cries as he thrusts into her, nestled in her heat, both of them back home in each other, and glad, even happy, to admit that if they're going to be haunted on this night, that it be by one another. The love they have, that they will determine to push through and do right for each other this time.

After, costumes tossed aside and make up kissed and smeared away, Abbie lays breathless, panting in his arms. "Don't hurt me," she pleads, caressing his face. "Please Ichabod, I…..I love you please don't hurt me again."

"I won't." He vows. "I assure you, Abbie, I am here to stay. And I will love you, and marry you, all over again, and truly, then, it will be till death do us part."

"I don't want to go back to the party," she breathes.

He rolls over on top of her, grinning wickedly. "I doubt we'll be missed." He grabs for her prop horn and gives it a honk. "I love you, Abbie. Happy Halloween."

"Happy Halloween."


End file.
